We could tell quickly that she was enjoying it, every moment. Struggling, whimpering. Teasing, enticing, pausing for a brief moment to look at herself in the mirror. Will there be more than this one time? We hope so. We’ve had one petite young blonde who not only looked good in the ropes but adored them, And set the bondage world aflame. We hope that lightning strikes again.

Hogtied. Ballgagged. Naked. A rope pulled tight between her legs in the front and between those bubble butt cheeks.

Watching as she struggles, rolling around on the floor, pulling the crotch rope even tighter. Making those whimpering – and moaning – noises from behind the mouth-filling ballgag. What do you think that she wants? Untied is, of course, one of the options. But we think that the bondage and the tight crotch rope is making her think about something else.

She was struggling. Not only to get loose from the ropes – her hands behind her back, her elbows yanked together hard, hogtied, an o-ring gag jammed into her mouth – but to figure out how she got this way. On the floor, alone in strange room. How did she get here? And how will she get loose. She’s sure that, as tight as the ropes are, she won’t be able to do it herself. Will someone rescue her? Or will someone come to make it worse?

She would do anything. Especially letting him tie her in brutal bondage, a painful hogtie position, a ballgag pulled tight into her mouth. Struggle, whimper, moan just for him. And when her mouth is ready – the drool from the ballgag, her mouth warm, wet, and waiting for him – to not only let him do what he wants to do next. But to have him do it. Not soon. But now. But that’s another story. For another time.

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Kelli

Chapter 1 of the Continuing Seriesan erotic bondage story by Robert Deane

To this day, I am still not sure what first attracted me to her. Perhaps it was those long legs. I still smile every time that I think about the phrase to describe those legs, how they go all they up to there (and we know where “there” is.) And the black leather high-heeled boots that she often wore when she danced only added to the elegance of those long legs.

Then there was the hair. I don’t know of many ladies who can wear hair that length, down to the middle of the back, and still look elegant. Long, coal-black hair. Yet even as dark as it was, it managed to capture the light, as it captured me. I remember telling her on more than one occasion that, if she ever cut her hair, I would have to hurt someone. Not her, of course, but the person who cut that gorgeous hair. I never could hurt her; my job was to protect her, not to hurt her.

And, of course, there was the body. Okay, so maybe she helped Mother Nature a bit. On most other girls I would call them “plastic boobs.” But somehow, she took what was she was given and made it better. Not extreme, as others had done. Enhanced is a nice word. Soft is a better one. Snuggly is the best.

If I was not sure what attraced me, I knew, without a doubt, what kept me there. Simply, the smile in her voice, every time she heard mine. I could hear that smile over the telephone. And that run-towards-me-from-the-middle-of-the-room-and-fling-herself-against-me hug as she yelled out my name. At those moments when she was especially glad to see me, she would, almost child-like, jump up into my arms and wrap her arms and those long legs around my body. Yes, wrapped herself around me as tight as I wrapped my arms around her. It was like Christmas, on any day of the week. Thanks, Santa, how did you know that was what I wanted? A nice, soft package to be carried in my arms, named Kelli.

As I sit here in my office, and look through the pictures, many of them showing that nice soft package, all bound and gagged, her eyes shining as she looked up into the camera, and as she looked up at me, I wonder how I managed to let her go. But that’s the end of the story; this is only the beginning.

I had two businesses back then, one I called the “legit” business, that brought in the money, the other the “up and coming” business where I had the fun and hoped to make money in the future. Kelli first came to see me, to ask for my help in the “legit” business. I helped her as best as I could. And when that was done, I asked of her interest in my other business, bondage photographer. Her eyes twinkled as she slowly nodded, a mischevious grin covering her face, showing her interest as she looked over the galley photographs of other models who had graced the pages of my web site in its early days. Kelli was a dancer, and had a dancer’s body and flexibility. And as a dancer, she was always willing to earn a few extra dollars.

It seemed like not more than a few minutes later that she was kneeling, bound and gagged on the floor of my office. And the way she let me tie her, and gag her, that first time told me that she would soon take to bondage like the proverbial fish to water.

That day she had been wearing a pair of faded jeans, skin tight, of course, showing off both those legs and that cute butt. The shoes, an old pair of what my generation had called sneakers, had been removed before we began the “bondage model interview.” The interview, which included at least one bondage position, though a formality with Kelli, was something I did with every new model.

I had first wrapped the rope around her ankles while she was still standing, starting with a piece of looped, white rope. I could feel her arms reaching down, resting against my shoulders to steady herself, as I knelt in front of her completing that first task. When I had finished wrapping the rope around her ankles, I slid the end several times between her legs, cinching the rope coiled around her ankles, pulling it tighter each time. With that simple tie, I did not even have to knot the rope, though I did so to ensure that there was no chance of it coming loose. When I was done, I gently caressed her soft, warm ankles, and I swear that I could hear a slight purring sound coming from deep within her soul. Eventually another rope, both above and below her knees, tied the same as her ankles, held those lovely legs close together. Then I slowly stood, paused for a moment to look down into her still-shining eyes, and while holding her hands helped her kneel on the floor.

Her arms were to be bound behind her. Such a simple statement to explain the tight bondage. Now bent down behind her, as Kelli knelt on the floor, I began that task with more of that soft white rope, wrapped around her wrists, palm to palm, and tied in the same fashion as her ankles and legs, coiled rope cinched tight by the same piece of rope. I finished with several knots out of reach of her fingers, once again the knots not needed but still there to complete the task.

Another piece of rope had been used to pull her elbows together, touching, the rope also coiled around her bare upper arms, with a cinch rope slid several trimes between her arms. I am not sure why that is such a wonderful way to tie a lady’s arms, except, perhaps, that it is one of the most submissive positions in which a lady can be tied. If it is done properly, which of course it was, elbows touching and the rope also slid up and between her upper arms and her body, across her shoulders and the back of the neck, and back down the other side, escape is virtually impossible.

The other benefit of “elbow bondage”, at least for the person doing the tying, is that the lady is forced to thrust her breasts forward, as if they begged to be touched, to be caressed. And Kelli did a good job of that, even without the bondage. The bondage only enhanced it, to a degree that I would have thought to be impossible. And what she was wearing, a one-size-fits-all-but-two-sizes too-small t-shirt, sans bra, only emphasized the effect. She had thrust her breasts forward. Her nipples, perhaps hard from a chill in the room, yet maybe from an arousal from the bondage, strained against the flimsy material of the t-shirt.

I still remember how I placed the bright red ballgag in her mouth. As I held the ball to her lips, and as she looked up at me with those shining eyes, slowly parted her lips and licked the rubber ball, I had never, before then, been jealous of a ballgag. But at that moment I was.

I had to squeeze the rubber ball to fit it past her lips, my one hand placed at the back of her head, holding her head for support and feeling the softness of her hair in my hand, the other hand squeezing on the ball and pressing it deeply in her mouth. I could see her try to seat the ball in her mouth, as the gag filled her mouth completely. It was large enough that without the use of her hands she would not be able to remove it, and her hands were not available for that or any other purpose. Though it seemed to be a formality, I slid the black leather straps of the ballgag around her head, beneath her hair, and buckled it in place.

The red ballgag that filled her mouth, unknown to Kelli at that moment, had two purposes. It’s most obvious purpose was to silence her. But it also had a small hook, facing forward, that protruded from its center. To that hook I attached a thin chain, a small clasp on one end, pulled up on the chain until Kelli’s head was tilted back, almost looking straight up towards the ceiling, and then, as I stood on my toes, I reached up and slid one link of the chain through an open-ended hook that hung down from the ceiling. The squealing from behind the ballgag told me that Kelli had neither anticipated nor appreciated this bit of bondage. Her legs tied kept her from standing while the chain from the ceiling to the ballgag kept her from resting back on her legs. Yet even with that limitation of her movement, she still managed to shake her head, her hair flying wildly like a long mane, at the same time emitting a growl-like sound from behind the ballgag. Kelli was not happy at that moment, in her first introduction to tight bondage. She was always accustomed to being in control, or at least maintaining most of the control. As she was bound, and gagged, she had no control and her eyes flashed at me when I would come into view. Somehow, it made her even more beautiful.

Though I had always managed, up to then and after, to keep the photographer-model relationship on a professional level, I could not resist kneeling down in front of Kelli, leaning forward, and gently, so very softly, kissing her on each cheek. I could see her straining to look down at me, only able to move her eyes. That look told me that not only did she not mind the kiss, but I think she had expected it, perhaps even wanted it. At the same time, my hands, as if acting on their own, reached down began to gently caress her breasts, my fingers eventually finding their way to glide across her nipples. If her nipples had been hard because of a chill in the room, I was convinced, at that moment, that they were becoming harder, more aroused, from the touch, as that growling-like sound suddenly changed to a softer, moaning sound, from deep inside of her.

As my mind somehow won its battle to regain control, I remembered that I had one more task to complete her bondage, and still had, as the poet once said, miles to go before I could sleep. Slowly standing, my eyes taking in the vision beneath me, I took out one last piece of rope from my back pocket, walked behind Kelli, and slid a looped end of the rope around her wrists. Quickly, before she could object too much with another squealing sound, I pulled up on the rope, pulling her bound wrists up and behind her back, until her arms were almost parallel with her shoulders, and again reached up and slid the rope up and through that same hook that held the chain from her ballgag, pulled the rope back down and tied it again around her wrists. She tried to lean forward, to ease some of the strain of her now arched body on her arms and shoulders. Her black mane, laying across her upper arms, moved ever so slightly as she tried to move. But if Kelli had harboured any thought of release or even anything other than small movements, those thoughts had to have disappeared at that moment. And, of course, at the same moment, the growl-like sounds returned.

Still fighting to remember why I, and she, were there, I finally went to the closet, took out the camera, picked up as many rolls of film as I could carry, and then began my project for that day, immortalizing on film a bound and gagged Kelli.

That was the first time, the first of many. What was to follow would bring Kelli even deeper into my world, a trip she took without hesitation or reservation.

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She’s Not In Trouble. But She Doesn’t Care. Not Yet
an original erotic bondage story by RobertDeane

How it happened, at least part of it, wasn’t hard to explain. She was a young nurse working in the hospital, taking care of patients, their every need. Well, most of them. She had lots of friends; but she also had a few enemies, those who would, at a minimum, like to see her lose her job.

None of that was hard to believe. Some didn’t like her because of how she looked, a tiny (barely five foot tall) young blond. Long hair that, of course, she always wore up when she worked. And a body to match; her scrubs barely hid her *swimsuit style* body. Full, erect, very natural breasts. Her waist and hips also in the proper proportion. She could have had a job as a model but instead chose this profession.

Her newest patient was a young man in his 20s. He needed to be sedated, and kept that way. There was a medical reason, she left that up to the doctors. But there was also an interesting side effect. The medicine in the IV gave him an erection, probably the largest she had ever seen. She knew that he was well-built to begin with, but she swore that his erection was six foot tall and two foot wide. The covers on the bed? There was always that *tent*, just below his waist.

She began to feel sorry for him, to think that it was somehow working on his mind. To be that erect, that hard, for so long. She also began to convince herself that it would do some damage. So she just *had* to do something about it. After all, *taking care of him* was her job. It was the night shift. And no one would know.

After she walked into his room, slowly closing the door behind her, pulling back the cover exposing that massive erection, she began to remove her scrubs, stripping down to proably the most non-medical undergarments that she had. Okay, they were white. But that’s where the similarity stopped. A white shelf-bra, on which her more than ample young breasts rested. Her npples had already become hard as diamonds just from the thought of what she was going to do. It was some kind of *taboo*, she new that. But she continued to justify it in her mind; it was *for him*, for the patient.

Below the blue scrub bottom she also wore white. White garget belt, white stockings. The only thing missing was white heels, but that would have been too obvious.

After pulling the curtain around the bed – it was a private room but it added, at least in her mind, to the privacy – she reached up behind her head, loosened her blonde hair, shook her head, and then let it fall to her shoulders. There she stood, next to his bed, clad now only in her *barely cover anything* bra, garter and stockings. Making as little noise as possible, she began the climb onto his bed, moving towards him, until she straddled him, her legs spread wide as they needed to be.

There was one more thing to do, one step to take. And she did. Reaching down with her left hand, she took hold of his cock, her small hand barely able to wrap around it, raised her body a bit as she pointed it between her legs and began what seemed like a long side. Sliding it inside her, impaling her body on it. Giving out a soft moan as it found its way deep inside her.

As she lowered herself until it was fully inside her, she thought for a moment that her body would be split in half. She had never had anything so long or that wide inside her. If she didnt know better, she would have sworn that her body was resting on a six foot pole. Usually she would have used some kind of lubricant; but the knowledge of what she was about to do, how it would feel inside her, had already gven her all the natural lubicrant that she needed.

When it was completely side her, filling her like never before, her young body shuddered. A tony orgasm, but an orgasm nevertheless. She quickly had lifted her rght hand to press her palm against her mouth to keep any sound from escaping.

And the ride began.

Reaching down with her left hand resting it on his stomach, her right hand taking hold of her breasts, squeezing each one. she lifted her young body, feeling his cock slide inside her, then lowering herself until her body was, once again, implaed on it. Up and down. Each stroke slowly,methodically. Using her body’s muscles to squeeze his cock tight. Her thigh muscles being worked as never before, helping to lift her body, then letting it lower. Each upwards and downward stroke quicker than the one before it.

All the time quietly telling herself *I’m doing this for him*,

She hadn’t expected it when her hit her. That second orgasm, crashing through her. Arching her body, thrusting her breasts upward, opening her mouth wide ready to scream. Not caring who heard it.

Which was when she felt the hands from behind her. The palm of one hand forced against her mouth, barely letting any sound escape. The other wrapped around her midsection, holding her tight, as her body shook, convlused, from the most mind-blowing orgasm she had every experienced.

At first thinking it was a saviour, keeping her from alerting the entire hospital wing to what she was doing, she soon realized that something else was happening. Whilie the one hand – on her mouth – kept her from making any noise, the other let loose of her waist then wrapped around her arms – first, her left arm then reaching around to grab her right – pulling them together behind her back. Tight. Her elbows yanked together hard by the powerful hands. Forcing her body to arch even more, her breasts thrusting forward, a whimpering trying – unsuccessfully – to escape from deep inside her soul.

Which is also when she felt the breath on her left ear and heard the words, in almost a gutter sound. *Don’t move and you won’t be hurt. Move and you will be.*

Those hands must have done this before. It seemed less than a second before the one hand moved away from her mough and the other released her arms. Which is when she felt the white, medical tape being wrapped around her still-touching elbows. As quickly as if it were a machine doing it. More tape around her wrists, holding them just as tight, palm to palm. Followed by the sound – and feel – of the tape across her mouth and around her head. Wrapped again, and again, and again. Pulling her blonde hair against the back of her head.

One more strip across her eyes. At least she had realized this and closed them, only moments before the first piece of tape was pressed against them. She could hear the sound of the tape being wrapped fully around her head.

In less than what seemed like a moment, she could barely move her upper body. The only sounds she could make were whimpers. Her ability to see anything in the room was gone. Along with her ability to move

She didn’t know who; she didn’t know why. She only knew that he probably wasn’t done. She was right.

More of the medical rape was wrapped arund each thigh and ankle, forcing her to stay in a frogtied position. Not only could she not move, she couldn’t lift herself up. But even with all of this, that didn’t stop her. The little movement available, the grinding of her hips, continued. His hug cock was still inside of her, she was even more than before impaled on it. Though she couldn’t believe it possible, with everything that happened she was more aroused than before. She discovered that she could still lift her body, ever so slightly. Which is what she did. Which is also when the next orgasm went crashing thrugh her tiny body. The only noise that could be heard was her breathing, her nostrils flared as the only way for her breathing became even more labored.

She didn’t care what he looked like. A young blonde slut fucking a patient. She only knew that a wailing noise was rolling through her body. Rolling, and rolling, and rolling more. For what seemed like hours but was probably less than a minute.

Which is when several thoughts hit her hard. She was stuck. The medication was still pumping into his body through the IV, the medication that was keeping his cock erect. Not only would that keep her impaled, it would also keep her – and him – aroused. A scantily clad blonde, her hair not only soaked from perspiration but pulled against her head from the medical tape around her mouth and her eyes. Her young body glistening in what little light that was coming in. Her own body’s lubricant sliding down her innr thighs.

But she didn’t care. Not at all. Her muscles continued to grab his cock. Her body continued to slide up and down, even as little as she could move. One orgasm, after another, rolling through her.

+ + +

When they found her at the shift change, her body was still shaking. Her upper body was limp but she was mostly upright. It took two others to lift her off of his still hard, still fully erect cock. Which is when they saw what looked like a smile on his lips.

They never asked how she got this way. Wrapped tight in the medical tape. Gagged. Blindfolded. And engaging in a sexual act that no one could believe. They didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to tell them.

The patient, fully recovered, was discharged several days later. He said that he didn’t know anything about what happened. Though a smile seemed to form on his lips every time he was asked.

They were married – he and his former nurse – twelve months later. On the anniversary of that date. A case of white medical tape having been delivered to their bridal suite.